Keeper of the Sword
by the Transcendancer
Summary: Based on an Irish fairytale, Draco and Harry again find themselves on opposite sides of the battlefield. Old resentments still fester, and new crimes add their anguish. It's up to an Egyptian princess and a magic sword to make things right.
1. In the Land of Dreams

Keeper of the Sword

by Princess Cora

*~*~*~*

Chapter One

In the Land of Dreams

__

Fire. There was fire all around her. She could feel the warmth, knew she had to get out of the mansion, but was consumed by such a strong despair, it was taking over her senses. She watched the paintings and furniture burning, dimly aware that she had no clue who these people were, but feeling the loss and sadness so strongly there wasn't room for anything else. She stared around in horror, felt the light lick of a flame upon her left cheek....

Princess Zalika's eyes snapped open. She was apparently sleeping rather peacefully in her bed in Cairo. She snuggled back under the covers, shivering a little. She could still feel the echoes of the terrible sadness...

The next night, she nested herself in the covers once more. The summer day of a eleven-year-old princess was frustratingly boring, and Zika (as she was called), having reflected on the dream of last night, decided she would rather have exciting dreams like that than tame ones.

To no avail. Her dreams were wierd and happy, but not exciting. It was just as well she didn't remember them any more - except the dream about the swordfight, when she was four. Ah, that one she remembered well.

__

The tall man was slashing, hitting, and she barely had enough skill to block him. Bits of her clothing, strangely all black, were snipped off. The man yelled not to be careless. She felt anger. A strong sense of anger, almost hatred. Suddenly she_ was the one slashing, attacking, and fighting in furious swipes. But the man was too good, he took out his wand, and - _

It wasn't until a month later, when Zalika finally got to start school again. Zika liked school. She had friends at school, not very many, but they saw more to her than just an Egyptian princess. Her favorite teacher, Tamara Seij, had recently gotten married to a British man named Bill Weasley, so they would have to call her Professor Weasley now. Zika laughed at the thought - Tamara, with her almond-shaped Nile-green eyes, bronze skin, and wavy black hair, could not look less like that English name.

But then, Zika wasn't exactly Egyptian herself. She'd been living there all her life, so her skin had taken up a tan, but her short hair was only a dark bronze and her eyes were sky blue. In fact, she was only a quarter Egyptian - her grandmother on her dad's side had been born in Alexandria. The rest of her family was pure Irish.

After a lonely weekend, Zika lay down her head on the pillow, glad to be heading towards another Monday.

__

Humiliation. Once, she had laughed at them, been on the top, but now she was the lowest of the low. The fire had destroyed everything, and nearly destroyed her. Now there was only pain, only hurt, but the kind of hurt that came from the inside. She saw someone else, someone she hated, taunting her about the burn scar that ran up the left side of her face. Never in her life would she have thought that she could feel this miserable. This humiliated. This lonely.

Zalika was even happier on Monday. The dream had made her think. What things do I have to be thankful for? My friends, my father and mother who care for me, my cats, my wonderful school where I can be myself, magic. I have magic! Zalika spent a few moments being sorry for the Muggles, and then some longer moments being heartily sorry for the Squibs. It's worse not having something when you know it exists, she thought.

__

Humiliation. When will the torture end?

Winter passed, then spring, in a blur of memories. Zalika turned twelve, and she reflected with sadness that this year went by like a blur. Graduation, and celebrating with her friends, before going back to her almost empty palace and trying to get some sleep.

__

Soon. Soon the torture will end! One last train ride... and then where would she be? Her mother said something about an apartment. Oh well. Soon they would stop looking at her, with those eyes, full of malice or pity. She could take the malice, but she just couldn't take the pity. Damn them all.

Zalika turned in her bed. She murmured, half in the dream, and half out, _"It's all your fault, you took everything for granted. Look on the bright side."_ She knew now that these dreams were not of her life. She recognised none of the places or people, yet they felt familiar to her. She hoped that this person really didn't exist... and she turned over, and into a dreamless sleep.

Several countries away, Draco Malfoy, barely 17 years old, also turned over, in his little bed in a tiny apartment. "_It's all your fault, you took everything for granted. Look on the bright side."_ He blinked in surprise. He hadn't been asleep, only remembering the train ride home yesterday. He shuddered and drew the blankets closer around him. _Take things for granted?_ he thought. _What do you mean? _But there was no more voice in his head. He was all alone again.


	2. Guardian of the Sword

Chapter 2

Guardian of the Sword

*~*~*~*

Harry Potter, 35 years of age, sat in the Library looking over a book of recent magical history. He was in Ireland, at Kilkenny Castle. Harry smiled, remembering the day he and his family had moved in... rather forcibly...

__

"Harry!" Hermione laughed and gasped at the same time. "What did you do to that poor tour guide!"

"Oh, I sent her ahead... a couple years..." He grinned and waved his hand, repapering the walls.

"Harry, that's dangerous! You shouldn't abuse your power like that!" But Hermione was only pretending to be bossy, she knew Harry kept strict codes on how and how not to use his considerable power.

"But she was so annoying! She kept talking about interior decorating and bugging the hell out of me."

"Well, you did take over the castle that her historical society..."

"Screw the historical society." Harry encircled her in his arms, making the statement sound like an elopement scene. He kissed the tip of her nose. "This castle deserves the people who are living in it."

She laughed again. "You, and me, and Fiona?" 

He pulled her even closer. "You're worth more than this castle -

Harry stopped remembering. After five years, remembering her was still painful. Instead, he turned his thoughts to how he had came to know of his powers - the day he had defeated Voldemort.

__

The mirror on the wall only laughed, and beckoned without moving or speaking. Harry and Lord Voldemort, trapped in her spell, stepped forward and through the glass. A kaleidoscope of images paraded in front of him, coming so fast that Harry hardly had time to make sense of them. He saw Hermione for a second, then Ron, and a flash of Sirius. Harry wished that one could have stayed longer. And with that tiny longing, he suddenly realized that all of the pictures were, in fact, memories, and they all reflected himself. They were the thoughts that made up… Harry. Something snapped and he was looking across at himself, standing free in white space. "Good luck, Harry Potter," his reflection said, then there was the sound of shattering glass.

He was standing before the mirror, but instead of his reflection, he could see a large red rose, with molten gold running down the stem like blood. Touch it, the mirror said. It is the soul of Tom Riddle, who did not withstand the Test of the Mirror, as you did.

Harry reached out and touched it - 

And from that point on, Harry had never needed a wand to do magic. He could turn himself invisible, he could transform into any animal at will. He was still exploring the vast extent of his power, though as Hermione had mentioned, he placed strict codes on himself of misusing it.

Harry heard running footsteps along the corridor. He smiled, knowing his daughters would be up about now...

"Daddyyyyyy!!!!!!" A fourteen-year-old with long, black hair cannoned into his back.

He laughed. "Fiona, aren't you getting a little old for that?"

"Nope!" Her eyes were a bright, happy green. She laughed, too.

"Ugh, then _I_ am getting too old. Get off me!" She slid off and bounced into a chair. "Where are your sisters?"

"Cora's having breakfast, the others are still asleep." She got up and looked over her father's shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"Oh, I'm not really reading." He grinned. "Just... remembering."

"Mom?" Fiona looked serious now, and sad. Of all four sisters, Fiona had been struck worst with Hermione's death. She had only been nine, a terrible age to lose a mother.

"Well, not really." he grinned wryly. "Come on, let's join Cora at the breakfast table. Haven't you eaten anything yet?"

Harry and Hermione had four children, now the only light of Harry's sad life. The oldest, Fiona, was fourteen. She had the capability of acting childish and serious, shadowed by her mother's death but determined not to let it consume her.

The next was Cora, a mischievous girl of twelve. She had her mother's brown hair and love for order, but her father's emerald eyes. She had a bit of a wicked streak in her, and was the perpetrator of most midnight excursions. Harry permitted two a year, though he never told this to the girls.

Then there was Fiachra, ever a puzzlement. She had been named after a girl in an old Irish fairy tale, about the children of King Lir. She was a mysterious 11-year-old girl with short black hair and chocolate brown eyes, loved to be immersed in a fantasy tale or a walk in Celtic Ireland. She mainly kept to herself, preferring to harbor her hopes and fears inside. Harry could see too many of his faults in her, and thought maybe her mother's death at such an early age (6) had triggered these feelings. Yet she continued to shrug off any help or advice.

And then there was little Adonna. Only nine years old, she was the sunlight of Harry's life. She had been too young to remember much of Hermione before she died, and this shined through in her sunny, optimistic attitude. She knew how to make people laugh, and often her gold hair and sparkly green eyes would pop up at the most unexpected times.

~

Aori Chandler seethed. She had been angry for quite a while now, several months in fact, but she had wanted more information before she acted. "Thank you, Draco. You have been most helpful."

Draco Malfoy, 35, nodded and grinned. "You pay well, Aori." Then he turned and left the room.

Yes, he thought. I was right. She will stop at nothing to give Harry the pain and torment he deserves.

At one time, Draco had had the upper hand over Harry. But when the Malfoy Manor burned down in his sixth year at Hogwarts, and left his family with hardly any money, and him with a burn scar up the left side of his face, he was forced to see things from a different perspective. Most of the Malfoy's fortune had been in property, portraits, furniture, and obscure Dark Arts objects. All these had been lost, and the Malfoy name was hardly any good any more.

At school, he had been laughed at and tormented, especially by Harry and Ron. He was no longer appreciated in the Slytherin house, and he became silent and withdrawn. Then Harry had defeated Voldemort, and the Malfoys had no one left to turn to. All the Death Eaters were being hunted down, and nothing seemed to fit.

So, displaying the proper Malfoy cold-heartedness, Draco had taken the remaining money, left his father in the dust (his mother had passed away in the fire), and gone off to become someone.

And now he was stuck in service to an insanely jealous woman who would stop at nothing to hurt Harry - or, more precisely - his children.

~

The sword had once been Godric Gryffindor's. It was the very same sword that he pulled out of the hat in his second year. However, after his fight with Voldemort, the sword had changed. It was Hermione who noticed it first.

__

The light of the common room fire was warm and comforting, but Harry stared blankly without seeing anything. Hermione longed to put and arm around his shoulder and say everything's going to be all right, but she had no idea if that was true. Harry hadn't really said anything after his strange battle with the Dark Lord.

As she watched him carefully, she noticed something funny about the sword strapped to his belt. "Harry," she said. "Look at your sword…" He snapped out of his reverie and glanced at his sword belt. He immediately saw what she meant. The metal, once silver, was now bright gold. Some of the patterns had changed. But most importantly, when Harry drew it from it's sheath, instead of the name Godric Gryffindor…

"Harry… it has your name on it."

Harry loved his sword. When Hermione had passed away, he infused it with power to protect his children, so as long as the sword was in his possession, no one could harm them. He kept it under a strong spell, locked away in his room.

It was this item that Aori so desired – for once she had the power of the sword, there was no stopping her destroying what Harry loved the most.

*~*~*~*

The first chapter was more like a prologue… now starts the real story…


	3. Possesed

Chapter 3 ~ Possessed ~ By Princess Cora  
  
Zalika walked through the airport towards her gate. She was going to Ireland! The home of her family. She had only been here once or twice, as a small child. Now that her father was dead, she was going there for at least a year, in a teaching position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
  
It had been her choice to come a month early, to stay with Harry Potter, the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and part-time ruler of Ireland. She was very excited - of course she'd heard the stories about him, and marveled that he had actually volunteered to host her for the month of August.  
  
Of course, it must get lonely in that big castle with only his four daughters. She never quite knew what happened to his wife, no one who knew the truth was prone to telling. Yes, she knew what being alone in a big house was like, her parents had always been distant and she was an only child.  
  
The best part about the trip was that there was an opportunity to wipe the slate clean, to find her own life. She had been screened from the outside world for too long, and now she was getting a chance to make her own way.  
  
The only thing she wished right now, as she boarded the Muggle plane, was that she was powerful enough to apparate the distance to Kilkenny. The plane was crowded and uncomfortable, and she had to blend in as a Muggle. Oh, well. She sighed, and took out her sketchbook to while away the time.  
  
~ 2:10 pm  
  
"An Egyptian princess?" Fiachra reiterated. "A real one?" She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes.  
  
"Yes, a real one," Harry said with a smile. The family was gathered in the library, talking about Princess Zalika's arrival at 4:00 this afternoon. Of all the children, Fiachra was most excited.  
  
"Can we decorate a special room for her?!?!"  
  
Harry restrained himself from laughing. "No, the spare rooms we have should be fine. I'm sure she wants a taste of the Irish culture." He winked and smiled.  
  
Cora laughed. "Dad. our rooms are anything but Irish!" Everyone laughed at that. Each of the members of the family had two rooms to decorate and redecorate as they wished - one to sleep in, and one in the collection of spare rooms.  
  
"Aw, Corr, stop teasing!" Adonna said.  
  
Harry laughed and hugged his youngest daughter. "Now, run along, all of you. You can at least make yourselves look presentable."  
  
~ 4:58 pm  
  
Draco Malfoy stood and stared at the gold case holding the Sword of Life, as it was known, sitting plainly in Harry's room. He was testing the powerful bonds, trying to find a way to break them. Indeed, they were strong, but Draco hadn't been Lord Voldemort's apprentice for nothing. He placed his wand on the lock-  
  
And snatched it away. There were footsteps and voices coming from downstairs. Damn! Was it 5:00 already?  
  
Draco bolted out of the door and flashed down the hall. There was a door on the right that led to one of the spare rooms. He yanked it open and spun inside, closing it as quietly as he could behind him. He gave the room a quick glance around - no windows, but a big skylight let in plenty of light. There was a bathroom to the left and a walk-in closet to the right. Draco ran to the closet, stuffed himself into a corner, and tried to calm his frantically beating heart.  
  
~ 5:06 pm  
  
"All our spare rooms are on this floor," Harry said. "You can choose one."  
  
Zalika nodded. Harry was very gentlemanly, and his children were so sweet. She began taking a look at the rooms.  
  
The kids were nearly holding their breath in anticipation. The competition of the rooms was a fierce one, especially between Fiona and Fiachra. They had both worked hard in the past hour to perfect their rooms.  
  
However, Zalika passed them both with a glance inside and a smile. Maybe she just wants to see them all first, Fiona thought, as her room (in shades of dark green) was passed over. When Zika looked inside the last one on the right, however, her face lit up in pleasure. "I'll take this one."  
  
Harry took a deep breath, sadness in his eyes, and replied, "All right then."  
  
"Unless. would you prefer I have another one?" she asked, worried.  
  
"Oh no, no, that's fine." He sounded distracted. "Yeah."  
  
The square rooms was very simple, yet clean and elegant. The walls were pale purple, as was the comforter on the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. The accent color was white, and the wooden posts and wardrobe were red-brown cherry wood. The curtains on the bed were sheer white and tied back, the inlay on the dresser was mother-of-pearl.  
  
There were a few framed wizarding photos on the wall, but other than that there were no windows or any other wall decorations. Light came from a large skylight in the ceiling.  
  
"Do you need help unpacking?" Harry asked. Zika could see he was only asking to be polite, there was something about this room that made them all uncomfortable.  
  
"No, that's all right." She smiled brightly. "I'll manage."  
  
Harry smiled back, if a little sadly. "We'll have dinner at around six. If you want a tour or anything before then, you'll find me in the library."  
  
She nodded and followed her bags into the room.  
  
~ 5:06 pm  
  
Draco had just about calmed down, when he heard the door open. Damn! He'd have to wait until the princess was down to dinner.  
  
He pricked his ears, listening hard. He heard someone flop on the bed, then a sigh. He listened harder, and caught a *swish* that he had barely registered as a wand before an array of clothes appeared in the closet, trying to find hangers. They made enough noise that Draco was able to shift his position closer to the door. After a few minutes of little clinks and other mundane noises, he heard the door open. A few seconds, then it shut quietly.  
  
Draco listened for another half a minute, hearing only silence. Slowly, just in case, he opened the door, giving the room a quick glance. Should he try the door? No, too much chance of running into the Potterettes. The skylight was probably warded, but that wouldn't be too hard to lift, and he could see the opening device on one end. He climbed up onto the bed, grabbing onto a post for support. He lifted his wand and waved away the warding spell easily. Now for the hard part. Even at Draco's 6' 1", he was barely able to reach the clasp. With a click, the skylight opened. However, to pull himslef up, he'd need two hands, which meant balancing precariously on the soft mattress.  
  
"Need some help there?" Zalika asked, leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom.  
  
Malfoy, distracted and frightened, lost his balance and barely missed a concussion with the headboard as he fell down onto the bed. He chose not to reply, his face burning crimson. How could he have forgotten the bathroom?  
  
"Well, how about a cup of tea, then?" She conjured up a mug of hot tea.  
  
He blinked and sat up. The fall had pulled at a recent scar in his shoulder, and it was stinging with pain. A cup of tea sounded all too good. Draco only nodded.  
  
"Milk? Sugar?" She magicked up another cup and took a seat on the foot of the bed.  
  
"Neither, but thanks." Now that he had a good look at her, he was surprised. She wasn't the dark, mysterious stereotypical Egyptian he'd been expecting. Her skin was slightly tan, but her shoulder length hair was only a burnished bronze, and her eyes were a cheery blue. Her face looked very British, except for a slight tilt of the eye that gave her an elegant, exotic look. She was, overall, very pretty.  
  
Zika was also sizing up the man in front of her. Tall, she had seen that, pale blonde hair, wavy and down to his shoulders, a little on the thin side, and very, very, pale. His eyes were silver-gray, intense, very unique. And she didn't fail to notice the burn scar, running up the side of his face. She also took note of his outfit - black shirt and pants, long black coat, black fingerless gloves. He was definitely something else.  
  
He finally took a sip of his tea. She grinned, seeing his eyebrows go up. "Where did you get this stuff?"  
  
"I summoned it from my kitchen in Cairo. It's imported from India."  
  
He looked impressed. "Well, it's good."  
  
They sat in silence for another few seconds before Zika replied, "It's not every day a handsome man appears in my bedroom!"  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow, taunting her. She laughed lightly. Then he shook his head, looking down, a shadow of a sad smile appearing on his face. "I'm not handsome."  
  
Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I happen to be an expert on handsome men, and you, Mr. Mr." she realized she didn't know his name.  
  
"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."  
  
"Zalika Monaghan." She continued her earlier thought, her voice turning softer. "Believe me, you are quite handsome."  
  
He blushed slightly and turned his head, showing of the burn scar. It had been a very long time since anyone had called him handsome. "Well, most people say things like," his voice was quiet but painful, "oh, I don't know, scarred, or maybe "disfigured" if they're trying to be nice, or just plain ugly." He stopped and froze as he felt a warm finger touch his cheek, at the edge of the scar.  
  
"How did this happen?" Her voice held only curiosity, not pity.  
  
Draco stared down at his mug, debating whether or not to tell her. What the hell, he thought. It's not like it's any big secret.  
  
"When I was sixteen. my house burnt down. I stayed too long inside, hence the. burn." he waved a hand at his face. "My family used to have a fortune. We were one of the richest people in Wizarding England. However, most of our money was in documents, property, and illicit Dark Magic items. Then most of our money was either wasted away by the Dark Lord or put into health care for my mother and I. And, later, for her funeral." He stopped to take a long drink of tea. "She was hurt a lot worse than me. She's the one who dragged me out of the house, I couldn't move, I was so shocked. Once they established that I was going to live, I was basically ignored.  
  
"And then when I got back to school, on our first day of double Potions, I made a dumb mistake and splashed an acidlike potions onto my face. It naturally got the burn horribly infected. So. I have a bad scar." Draco shrugged, like his story was nothing.  
  
Zalika looked thoughtful. "Did you say. you were 16?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How old are you now?"  
  
"35." He gave her a suspicious look.  
  
Her eyes widened and she sat back. "You're the one from my dream!"  
  
He blinked in surprise. What.  
  
"When I was 11, I dreamt that I was inside a burning house. It was more like a palace, but I knew it was home. And I saw these portraits burning, and I felt very, very. sad. Just before I woke up, I could feel the flames burning up my left cheek. it was you." She held up a hand as if to touch his cheek again, but let it drop.  
  
"And I remember the potion dream. I thought it was only a lot of pain and some wild memories I didn't really understand, as I'd been sick for the past few days. What I could never understand was why my cheek and neck were hurting. And then. in September. you were." her eyes widened. "Oh my god. the humiliation. I'd hoped no one had to live through that."  
  
Now he looked up, pain in his eyes, to meet her crystal blue ones. Instead of pity or sympathy, both of which he despised, he saw.  
  
Empathy.  
  
She set her tea down on the floor, then walked over to his side of the bed. Suddenly, she put her arms around his waist and pulled him close in a hug, sliding onto the bed. Her eyes were springing tears as she remembered her painful dreams.  
  
Draco awkwardly put his arms around her. He'd only been hugged by his mother, when he was much younger. He didn't remember it feeling this good.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, I just." she let go and pushed herself back to her original spot. Draco let her go with a small twinge of regret.  
  
"I knew it had to have been someone else. My normal dreams were never anything like that. but. as the years passed. I convinced myself they were just dreams." She shook her head, then started to chuckle a little. "And now, you appear in my room. What were you doing here, anyway?"  
  
"Well." He searched for a good alibi. "Actually, I was trying to leave without being noticed. However," his continued, his voice turning melodramatic, "my evil plans were thwarted by the lovely Lady Monaghan."  
  
Zika laughed. "Evil plans, huh?" She laughed again. Draco smiled, genuinely. She had a nice laugh. "All right, Mister Malfoy. I won't tell anyone about you."  
  
He blinked in surprise. Not tell anyone? Why would she do something like that?  
  
"You look surprised." Her voice was kind.  
  
Draco looked down at his tea, which was almost empty. "I'm. I'm just not used to people being nice to me," he muttered.  
  
There was silence for a few moments as Zika took both cups and set them on the dresser. She turned around and looked at him fondly. "You look like you need another hug."  
  
Draco looked up for a second, then slid off the bed. Zalika took a step forward and encircled her arms around his waist. This time, he returned the hug gratefully, musing that it really did feel good.  
  
She drew back a little, looking up into his clear gray eyes that were carefully devoid of emotion.  
  
Suddenly her watch let off a sharp chime. "Oh," she said. "It's 5:50." she sighed. "I should go down to dinner. I'm not hungry but I want to be polite. Harry's been so kind." She felt Draco tense up. "What is it?"  
  
"Well." he trailed off. "It's nothing."  
  
"No, tell me."  
  
Draco took a deep breath. "Well, you know the people who taunted me after the fire?" Zika nodded. "Yeah. That was him." Draco's voice was flat and emotionless. "Him and his friends. they hated me."  
  
She rested her head on his shoulder, unsure of what to say.  
  
"I hated them, too." he let her go and turned away. "Yeah, Potter and I go way back."  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Eternal MoonPeach Goddess voldemortsucks18 shiroiryu144 Nenuial aka Cheese Monkey 


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